harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

3.

Chapter Three: 

Harry falls face first into the bed of his new but temporary room. He sighs in relief, curling himself around soft sheets and burying his face into a plump pillow. Tom, the bartender and inn keeper, had looked skeptical of him at first, but after Harry promised that his parents would show up in a few days he had relented and let him have a room. There had been awkward questions, but Harry had smiled and charmed his way through. He had waxed poetry about his parents like some love struck fool and Tom had merely nodded his head and smiled. He had asked why Harry had came in so late and Harry had grinned and muttered something about adventure and how both his parents were Gryffindors and wanted him to try travelling alone for the first time. Tom had eaten up the lies easily and Harry almost felt bad.

Almost.

That night, Harry falls asleep rather quickly. His dreams are filled with familiar faces, there are even flashes of red eyes and a cunning smile. 

When morning comes, Harry slowly and reluctantly uncovers his face from the sheets. He blinks, closes his eyes and blinks again. There are streaks of sunlight that are floating through the window and dancing across his face. He groans and covers his face back up, trying to chase the remnants of his dreams. It must have been a nice one because he hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night, body shaking and voice hoarse from screaming his pain out. 

He tries to remember what he had dreamt but all he can make out is a pair of red eyes. Harry scowls and throws his covers off. Voldemort, he thinks. The name alone leaves a bittersweet taste in the back of his mouth. But why would a dream about Voldemort be anything nice? Harry scrunches up his nose in distaste and throws his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his knuckles unto his eyes. He yawns. Grabbing his glasses from the bedside table, Harry settles them over the bridge of his nose. His stomach rumbles loudly and Harry drops his head into his hands, groaning as he does so. 

Does he even have any money left? He had paid for the three buses that got him to London. And last night he had used whatever was left for a two night stay. The amount he had paid left him feeling green, but he was glad Tom had willingly agreed to accept his muggle money. 

Heaving a tired sigh, Harry drags himself to his feet and gets ready for the day. Without any money, he realises he needs to get to Gringotts first. Breakfast can wait. 

After he’s brushed his teeth, washed his face and dressed into the nicest clothes he has — which really aren’t all that nice but still. It’s the thought that counts, right? Harry stares at himself in the mirror with a deep frown. Anyone who’d look his way would obviously think ‘Oh look, there goes a mini James Potter’ and honestly, it’s completely throwing his game off. Harry can’t be recognised. He’ll fuck up if he is. 

Tilting his head in thought, Harry thinks he might have a solution. Though he’s not quite sure if it’ll work. He narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror and concentrates his magic onto his hair. He imagines a nice, pretty shade of blonde. At first nothing happens and Harry drops his shoulders in defeat, but then his hair colour starts changing right before his eyes and a warmth that he’s only ever associated with his wand flows right throughout his body. 

Harry blinks owlishly, caught off guard. Well, because his hair isn’t blonde. No. It’s pink. Bright and bubbly. Sort of the same colour that Tonk’s had been when he had last seen her.

Shit. 

As glad as Harry is that no one will think he's his father's carbon copy, he now has atrocious pink hair that will literally catch everyone’s attention. 

Harry can only groan and make frustrated sounds at himself. 

The walk down Diagon’s Alley is filled with Harry having to dodge around groups of gossiping witches and families and hoards of students that have come earlier to buy their yearly supplies. He sighs in relief when he makes it to Gringotts in one piece. No one had even spared him a second glance, which was… weird to say the least. Harry was always looked at, one way or another. People not staring down at him with disappointment or disgust or some sort of worship was new to him. It felt refreshing, actually.

If only it would stay that way. 

His talk with Griphook is awkward, especially when the Goblin asks for a key that Harry doesn’t have. But it’s okay, because three drops of his blood identify him as Harry Potter and then he’s being lead through many, many, many doors. 

“Why don’t you have your key, Me Potter?” Ragnok asks, staring down his nose at Harry who squirms in his seat. 

“I—well—um,” Harry fumbles over his words. Great one, he snarks at himself internally, marvellous speech there buddy. He flushes under the Goblins hard stare and clears his throat. “I think, um, Dumbledore has it.” He swallows around the tightness in his throat and flickers his gaze all around the office. It’s dark, filled with many objects. Portraits are slung all over the room.

“Dumbledore?” Ragnok questions. “Why would he have it?” 

Harry returns his gaze to the Goblin. “Because he’s my guardian…?” He says, tone a little bit unsure. He definitely remembers Dumbledore having it and then giving it to Hagrid. 

“Guardian?” Ragnok lowers his gaze to the papers cluttered all over his desk. “He is no such thing, Mr Potter.” 

“Oh,” is all Harry can say. It sounds quiet, tiny and barely there even to his own ears. He wonders if Ragnok had even heard him, but then the Goblin makes a sound akin to a hum. “And you’re sure Dumbledore has your key?” He asks. 

“Uh, yes. Yes I’m sure,” Harry answers, nodding his head. 

Ragnok levels him with an unblinking stare. “I suppose we could take it from him, without his knowing and give it back to you?”

Harry thinks about it. Swiping his tongue over his lips nervously, he shakes his head. “I think it would be better if you could make a new one and nullify the old one,” he says. “For a price, of course,” Harry rushes to add. 

The Goblin gives another sound akin to a hum and then grins sharply, showing off all his fangs. “What a great idea, Mr Potter.” 

Giving an uneasy smile, Harry can’t help but feel like he’s made some sort of deal with the devil. 

1138 words//unedited.

++++

harry: blonde. please be blonde--

harry's magic: did yall hear smth? did he say pink??? we're going with pink--